


Nuosavas

by bonelines, howlscastle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Bloodplay, Bottom Will, Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, Cum Play, Established Relationship, Face Slapping, Fighting, Floor Sex, Hand Feeding, JustFuckMeUp, Leashes, Leather Kink, M/M, Master Will, Master/Pet, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oh god what have we done, Praise Kink, Punching, Punishment/Reward, Puppy Play, Revenge Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, So much angst, Strangling, Sub Hannibal, Subspace, Surprise Angst, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Top Hannibal, Topping from the Bottom, Violent Love, Will is demanding, Will was lucky, complicated relationship, conflicted Hannibal, everything gets feral and messy and we aint even sorry, pet Hannibal, sorta - Freeform, takes place towards the end of season 2, the lion is in the room I repeat the lion is in the room, walking the line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 21:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7123051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonelines/pseuds/bonelines, https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlscastle/pseuds/howlscastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first time he’d put a leather collar around Hannibal’s neck, it hadn’t been anything serious— just something fun added into the mix during one of their heated fucks. Playful. Experimental. Taboo. What Will hadn’t anticipated, however, was how much he had delighted in it - in something to tug on and make himself feel as though he held all of the strings in their exchange. It’s nice to be the one in control every once and awhile when your partner is Hannibal Lecter.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nuosavas

**Author's Note:**

> **In honor of the #JustFuckMeUp Fest that Hannibal Cre-Ate-Ive is holding, we decided to try writing out a kink that we hadn't had the chance to write before now. We had a lot of fun with this and we hope you enjoy reading!**

It’s been a little while now since Will and Hannibal had first started seeing one another.

They use the term, ‘ _ seeing one another _ ’ loosely. Everything that had gone down between the two of them needed to be kept solely between the two of them; a unique, dark, sordid secret. Will is supposed to be fishing, luring, hunting Hannibal Lecter, not romancing him. But it’s not like he had  _ intended _ for it to happen. He knows that it is entirely unethical.

To say that Will had been unaware of the tension between himself and the Doctor would be a complete lie, but it had never  _ truly _ taken a sexual turn until more recently; until Will’s ‘fishing’ had started to turn around on itself. It was then that he’d started to question if maybe he liked pretending just enough to make it… well, not so pretend anymore.

Perhaps being the other piece to Hannibal’s puzzle had struck a dangerously pleasant chord within Will. Maybe, regardless of the animosity between them, there lingered the possibility for more. And with this new game they’ve started? It made it so much easier for Will to see those other possibilities.

The first time he’d put a leather collar around Hannibal’s neck, it hadn’t been anything serious— just something fun added into the mix during one of their heated fucks. Playful. Experimental. Taboo. What Will hadn’t anticipated, however, was how much he had delighted in it - in something to tug on and make himself feel as though he held all of the strings in their exchange. It’s nice to be the one in control every once and awhile when your partner is Hannibal Lecter.

A couple of talks later and some more experimenting had only taken things even further.

They haven’t put any sort of label on what they are, really - there isn’t much of a point when everything they do must be kept a secret - but hiding isn’t always easy. Especially not when he knows the nature of Hannibal’s relationship with Alana and when Margot shows up on Will’s doorstep. 

They are both well aware of their relations outside of one another.

Perhaps  _ too  _ aware. The subject always leaves a bitter taste in Will’s mouth.

It’s been made abundantly clear that the subject leaves the very same taste in Hannibal’s mouth as well. Upon finding out that Margot would be carrying Will’s baby, the Doctor’s first reaction had been to inform Mason Verger, who then promptly saw to it that his sister would  _ not _ be providing an heir to the Verger estate.

And so, once again, Will feels out of control— sure that Hannibal would stop at nothing to isolate him. Will’s bond with Abigail had been taken away from him and the moment he had even begun to toy with the idea of a child, Hannibal had saw to doing away with that as well.

A selfish, jealous, and extremely  _ tactical _ move on Hannibal’s part. 

Will does not appreciate it.

Margot had broken the news when all three had met at Hannibal’s office. Her words had sparked a tension in the room that had been thick enough to cut with a knife, and for a second, Will had wished he was actually holding one to wield. As soon as she’d left, Will had merely thrown Hannibal a murderous look and marched out the door to make the long drive home. 

However, due to their  _ extremely complicated _ relationship, the stakes have upped in the private game of tug-of-war that wages between their minds. Sometimes Will wonders if it’s too much.

Anger stews within him for the rest of the day— it heats to a boil and then simmers down to a feeling of helplessness. Will feels as though he’s spiraling and the only one who understands, is also the one who causes the feeling to begin with. The feeling continues to sit heavy and uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach until the sun readies itself to set and brilliant strokes of pinks and oranges dash themselves over the cold sky above Wolf Trap. Will had been avoiding his phone all afternoon - had heard it go off a couple times to signify a couple texts messages, but he’d known they would be from Hannibal. In fact, Will had turned the damn thing off and hurled it across the room, wanting nothing to do with the other man.

It’s only when the feeling in his gut turns into an itch, that Will finally finds his phone and texts the other man, ignoring any of the previous texts Hannibal had sent. The response is short and clipped, but it gives nothing away.

**_Come over._ **

 

 

Will doesn’t have to wait long for Hannibal to arrive. 

Outside, the sound of the gravel driveway crunching under tires can be heard. Will had left the front door unlocked and the porch light on, even as the sun dipped into the line of the horizon— everything left in waiting for Hannibal to arrive.

Including Will, himself.

He’s seated in one of the living room chairs with a book in his lap when the knock at the door sounds. The dogs perk and rouse from their resting to go and investigate, but with a soft whistle between the press of Will’s tongue to his teeth, they leave it be with a few scattered whines and nails clicking on the hardwood flooring as they pace away. 

“Come in,” Will calls towards the door, eyes lifting to watch as the knob turns and Hannibal steps inside and over the threshold.

Will knows he must look the part of livid. His expression is stoney and cold as he reaches for his bookmark and slips it between the novel’s pages, before the book is set aside on the coffee table and he clasps his hands together in his lap. Silence. Will says nothing at first.

Hannibal shuts the front door behind himself and goes through the extra effort of locking the deadbolt, eyes never leaving the other man who sits in the chair as the Doctor peels his coat and gloves off, hanging them on a nearby hook. The quiet settles. Hannibal merely arches a brow in a wordless question as he waits for Will to speak. The friction in the room is practically tangible.

When the silence is finally broken, it’s with a Lithuanian word that they both understand— something that had been agreed upon between the two of them over the many discussions of sex and the different dynamics that come to play alongside it. It’s both a safeword to slip them back into normalcy and a word to also invite the other to play. Will is inviting Hannibal, yes, but the tone is absolutely demanding. 

“ _ Nuosavas _ .”

When he says it, Will’s gaze does not leave the other man’s, studying the way in which Hannibal cranes his jaw off to the side, only just slightly in understanding.

Will is angry and, therefore, wants to make Hannibal his pet in order to feel in control.

It’s unorthodox, sure, but they’ve found a way that works for them. Something to help work through their ever-present struggle of power.

The prompt is followed by the gentle ‘ _ tink _ ’ of metal dancing against itself as Will produces their usual leather collar, hooked over the pointer finger on his left hand. He waves it in the air just the slightest, his own brow arching as he waits for Hannibal.

Hannibal’s gaze drops to the collar and then back up to Will. It is clear that this is revenge, and Hannibal couldn’t be more  _ thrilled. _ It won't be pretty, or nice— but it may be therapeutic. For Will, at least. As Hannibal turns away and loosens his tie and hangs that up as well, he also works on unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. He considers that whatever takes place between them tonight  _ may _ also help assuage his own feelings of betrayal and jealousy, seeking to know that he is still very much the center of Will’s world.

Plus, he had discovered there was a very specific power to be found in submission.

Hannibal walks over to stand directly in front of Will, looking down towards the other man to impress both his breadth and height over him, reminding Will of just  _ what _ kind of fire he’s playing with. The Doctor steps in even closer still, in order to lean over the chair and then slowly lower himself down, nose brushing down the slope Will’s cheek, throat, chest, abdomen, groin, inner thigh, and leg, before Hannibal finally stretches out to all fours at Will’s feet.

The older man keeps his eyes down as he rolls his neck once, stretching it, before it is abused at Will’s hand. 

But before Will can tether him, Hannibal reaches out and wraps a firm grip over Will’s ankle to move his calf roughly to the side and lean in to sink teeth into the flesh there. Not deep enough to draw blood from his leg, but enough to get the reaction from Will that Hannibal  _ craves. _

Will reacts instantly.

A hiss as every muscle in his body reacts with a quick jolt of adrenaline, sharp and hot as it pulses under his skin and brings him into action. The stings just enough to draw a snarl from the profiler and his hand comes down hard to clasp over the back of Hannibal’s neck— an action Will would take with any of his dogs if they were to misbehave. It isn’t meant to hurt, but the motion is forceful enough, dragging Hannibal’s mouth away from Will’s leg with a snarl.

“You’re not off to a very good start,” Will purrs in a tone that’s almost too tender for the amount of frustration that hides in the undercurrents. 

He leans down from where he sits to finally loop the collar around Hannibal’s throat and clasp the back of it, fingers brushing away from the leather throughout the exchange to dance over what skin is exposed at the back of his neck, just below Hannibal’s hairline. Soft and caring as they slowly wade into the pools of Will’s rage - there is love there, and there is an understanding, regardless of the anger.

However, when Will shifts back to sit up straight once again, dragging fingers through Hannibal’s hair as he draws away, there is only a cold and stony expression written across his features.

“Come.” It’s ordered with a simple motion of Will’s hand, beckoning Hannibal to kneel directly in front of him, right at the profiler’s feet.

Once Hannibal is close enough that his chest nearly brushes against the bend of Will’s knees, Will then reaches to begin stripping the Doctor of his shirt. Fingers work silently over each of the buttons, starting with the top, and then working his way down to the bottom, tugging whatever was tucked in out from the hem of Hannibal’s pants.

Will would leave those - for now - but he wants Hannibal shirtless. 

He wants nothing to obstruct his view of the leather collar that sits loosely around Hannibal’s neck.

Once the shirt is shrugged away from the man’s shoulders and in Will’s possession, he folds it neatly and quietly before twisting just enough to drape it over the back of the chair he sits on—  just for safe-keeping until they were done.

“Hannibal, we’ve gone over this before - haven’t we? Good dogs don’t  _ bite _ ,” Will begins again, authority in his voice, but it tumbles out smooth and definite on the curl of his tongue. Eyes remain lowered towards Hannibal, who stays on his knees before Will. Despite his lowered position, Hannibal is still pure brawn - all broad shoulders that loom over tapered waist and thick bones wrapped in even thicker muscle. 

There is a long pause between them. It’s heavy and bloated, until it draws out to a point and becomes sharp. They both know there would be punishment.

It comes in the form of a slap that collides with the side of Hannibal’s face. The sound of Will’s palm coming across the slope of Hannibal’s cheek cracks through the room and the force of it brings the larger man’s head to turn in the opposite direction, mouth parting just the slightest in the ghost of a sharp inhale. The sting that wracks through both men elicits a thrill on all fronts— they both delight in it for their own reasons.

While the cannibal’s eyes slowly close, basking in the pain and the calming bliss of it, the smallest hint of a smirk dances over the corners of Will’s mouth. He bends forward once again, cupping Hannibal’s jaw on the side opposite to where he’d been struck, and then leans close enough to press a kiss against the side of the man’s face that smarts in the wake of the slap. It’s another tender gesture, but Will punctuates it with more sharp words.

“Bite me again without my prompting you, and the next strike you’ll receive will be with a fist.” It’s hushed and almost lowered to a whisper, before Will draws away and slips out of their close proximity to stand.

Hannibal is left groaning and wanting, his dark eyes alight with a new fire and a heat that seeks to both challenge and to be commanded. For now, he stays perfectly still -  _ too _ still - as though his very submission is an act of violent disobedience. Both men know Hannibal  _ aches _ to feel the weight of Will’s wrath— to know that every fiber of Will’s being is commanded by Hannibal’s presence, even though the roles are very much reversed at this juncture.

The slap - or physical violence that closely resembles it - is nothing new between them. Not in this headspace, anyway. When they assume these roles, it’s something that’s almost to be expected. It’s not a form of punishment that Will would ever use on any of his actual dogs, but Hannibal is a very different kind of pet - if pet is even the right word. Can one honestly collar a lion and expect to be safe?

Only Will.  _ Only _ .  _ Will _ .

Without another word, Will walks from the living room and into the kitchen to begin making dinner, his shoes clomping heavy on the floor. Hannibal is left to his own devices. His own choices. 

Will isn’t concerned.

“Have you eaten yet— are you hungry? You can speak,” he calls over his shoulder as he heats the stove and begins boiling water in a pot. This is another understanding between them; that Hannibal doesn’t speak, unless spoken to. It keeps the dynamic the same on all planes and Will delights in it entirely - to be in this level of control. Hannibal’s weapon of choice has always been words, for they have always cut deeper and done far more damage than any blade. One need only ask Margot about  _ that _ . 

Hannibal’s ability to infiltrate Will’s mind through words is, in effect, neutered when they are like this. To wield words with the perfect compassion of perfect cruelty is Will’s role in this space.

Hannibal’s eyes track Will when he moves and leaves the room, but still, the older man doesn’t shift from where he sits. As soon as Will is out of sight, Hannibal’s mind is calm and clear, as it always is when control is shed like another one of his tightly-held veils. Will knows he is gifting Hannibal a reprieve from himself in this space. 

Hannibal removes his shoes and his socks, placing both beside the chair in another tender act of rebellion, before he then twists his torso and lowers himself onto hands and knees to move soundlessly towards the kitchen. Grime, dirt, hair… it is all forgotten in this space they’ve created. So many obsessions melt away to nothing— rather, such things are gifted into Will’s care instead. As much as Hannibal’s pleasure and pain are under Will’s control, so is Hannibal’s safety.

Most people - when they crawl, slink, or cower - they hug the earth in an effort to debase all that they are. Hannibal, however, stretches out and shifts his weight as if he has yearned all his life to let his body work close to the ground in this way. 

The  _ lion _ is most certainly in the room. 

His long neck bows, allowing ribs to sway and dance with quiet breaths. A heavy knee shifts and lands in perfect silence, just as the other is lifted, the balls of his feet helping push off. Palms rise and flatten, fingers splayed and gripping to echo the same pattern of his long and powerful legs as they slide along the floor. His huge shoulders rotate, moving forward thickly-corded arms and torso, just as his pelvis lengthens and tilts. 

Like any other honed killer, he is at Will’s heels, before the profiler can even notice his presence. 

The word, “ _ No _ ,” is murmured against the back of Will’s calf. Hannibal brushes his nose, cheek, jaw, and then the hard edge of his collar against Will’s leg in a motion that’s almost feline. Hovering just there, Hannibal speaks again. 

“I have not eaten.” The words are murmured in a lower, rougher tone - almost hinting along the edges of a warning.

Hannibal then drags his collar, jaw, cheek, and lips back, before he dips to nose under under the hem at the leg of Will’s pants. Hannibal completes his answer as his words darken even-still, speaking directly against the curve of Will’s ankle. 

“... and I am indeed,  _ very _ hungry, Will.” 

It’s snapped and growled out, a feral note taking the place of his trademark sultry warmth. Hannibal’s teeth graze against Will’s thin flesh, where it is stretched over jutting bone, but he never goes so far as to  _ bite _ . 

Certainly nothing  _ punishable. _

Oh yes, even in the act of perfect submission, their games never end. Hannibal is ever-curious and whimsical, even when hanging by a leash.

Which - speaking of  _ leashes _ \- Will is highly considering strapping the older man to one and keeping him tied out in the living room, so that he may be left in peace to cook. Of course Hannibal is dancing just along the edges of the boundaries set in place. He is hanging is disobedience on a thread and dangling it right before Will’s eye’s, never really doing enough to deem punishable, but just enough to set Will’s nerves on edge.

The profiler only gives a slight jump to his motions when Hannibal’s teeth warn their presence at his heel, muscles tensing and jaw setting as he reaches for a pan and begins heating that as well. Will draws away, walking to the fridge, and retrieves the meat from the fish he’d caught the day prior— he is sure to cast a warning glance over his shoulder, in Hannibal’s direction, as he goes. Hannibal only smirks quietly in response.

“Alright. I’m sure you could prepare this better than I could, but you’ll survive,” Will adds in a tone that borders on sarcastic. Will isn’t a bad cook, especially not when it comes to fish, but Hannibal has the talent of making damn near anything taste like five-star dining. Hannibal raises his brow and shrugs silently, he wouldn’t deny the fact.

Including meat that was much less animal, and much more  _ human _ .

The thought brings a grimace to Will’s face as he slaps butter into the pan and follows it with the fish— it sizzles as it heats up and the meat begins to cook through. The smell permeates the kitchen and drifts into the rest of the house as Will adds in various spices and begins boiling vegetables into the pot.

It doesn’t take long, before it’s finished - Will working quickly - casting Hannibal various looks along the way to ensure there would be no more teeth snapping at his ankles. And any time Hannibal manages to catch a second of Will’s attention, he makes sure to lick over his lips or worry the plush curve of them with his perfectly white and sharp teeth. A teasing warning of his own.

When completed, Will prepares only one plate, piling both his and Hannibal’s meal onto it, before he crosses the room to take a seat at the kitchen table. One plate and one fork— he has no intention of allowing Hannibal to dine across from him tonight.

“Come.”

It’s ordered with a quick snap of Will’s fingers, lowered at his side, directing the older man to seat himself on the floor beside Will’s chair. The loud snap sends a jolt of need, right down to Hannibal’s groin, his cock beginning to twitch and harden at Will’s increasing dominance.

A gaze is cast in Hannibal’s direction as Will cuts away a piece of fish and spears it onto his fork, only to direct into his own mouth with an arch of his brow in waiting. The idea strikes then. Hannibal doesn’t need to use the fork either - not if Will decides otherwise.

Once the older man slinks across the space between them and is near enough to practically brush the line of his chin across Will’s lap, the profiler then cuts away another piece of the light meat and take it between the grip of nimble fingers. It has the threat of becoming messy, but he is careful enough in the way he lowers it— offering it down before Hannibal’s mouth in silence. 

And then, Will waits, eyes staring down towards the other expectantly.

Hannibal pauses there a moment, arching a brow at the dangling meat. This is beyond anything they had done before when it came to this kind of  _ play _ . The mere idea of being forced to stay on the floor and be  _ hand fed _ would normally have Hannibal’s blood boiling. He could, at any point, call the safeword - in fact, he would be lying if he said the idea of calling it out hadn’t passed through his mind now. But as Hannibal looks up towards Will from where he kneels against cold floor, Hannibal would also be lying if he didn’t find a certain peace in simply… letting it all  _ go _ . He would also be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge that the sight of Will like  _ that _ didn’t make his cock throb just that bit harder.

From where Hannibal kneels against the cold kitchen floor, his gaze falls to the extended hand for a moment, lingering on long fingers that cradle the dripping meat of the fish. He closed his eyes, nodded once, before opening them to reveal lust-blown crimson. Hannibal leans up, parting his lips and closed them around Will’s fingers - taking down the meat and the profiler’s fingers, right up to the knuckle. 

With that, Hannibal lets his eyes fall shut once again as he holds his mouth there, letting the heat and saliva pool against Will’s skin, before the larder man runs the point of his tongue between the groove of Will’s fingers and sucks on them— hard. A rough groan crawls up Hannibal’s throat just before swallowing the meat whole, the thick column of his throat working hard as his gaze blinks up towards Will with a hooded lust.

And Will watches all of it without missing a beat. Blinking feels like too much time taken away from the image presented to him as Hannibal makes such a lewd act out of eating from Will’s fingers. The profiler doesn’t move— does not draw his had away through any of it, not until the very last swipe of Hannibal’s tongue. Only then, does Will lift his hand back to the table.

Head canted off to the side, Hannibal’s cheek brushes over Will’s lap. The older man opens his mouth and slowly drags his tongue over the curve of his lip, ready for more  _ meat.  _

Waiting to be _ fed _ .

“ _ Good boy _ ,” Will purrs out in answer, the makings of a smirk curving the corners of his mouth upwards. The praise is given almost affectionately and Will’s tone carries just as much heat as Hannibal’s eyes do.

There is something dirty - perverted even - in the thrill Hannibal feels when Will praises him as a ‘ _ good boy _ ,’ when both men know that Hannibal is far from  _ good _ . But the praise rolls over his flesh, drawing up a wave of goosebumps as though the words themselves had petted over his skin with ghosting fingers. He is determined to earn more praise at Will’s hand. Almost as determined as he is to disobey and preen under the punishment, just the same.

Will is happy to continue feeding the older man in this way, but is in no hurry. Using his fork to cut away some for himself, Will brings it up to his own mouth and between his lips, the silverware colliding with a gentle ‘clink’ against pearly teeth. He spears a few vegetables and eats those as well, while his free hand drifts down to lazily pet fingers over Hannibal’s forehead, before they weave up and through his hair. 

Hannibal’s gaze never once wavers from watching Will’s mouth, even as he lifts his head up and into Will’s stroking fingers. The cannibal’s tongue falls lax in his mouth, heavy with the desire to bite right through those soft, pink lips as they close around the metal of the fork— metal that  _ Hannibal _ is being denied. Rage begins to spike in his chest, but the strange grounding of Will’s hand over his head, soothes any anger down to a neat simmer.

After Will drags his fingers to pet through Hannibal’s hair a few times, they finally stop to cradle at the back of the man’s neck, applying just enough pressure to guide his gaze upward. Hannibal’s gaze narrows, knowing this position well - knowing its dangers - but he does nothing to resist... yet. He focuses, instead, on pacing his breathing as his chest threatens to heave.

Attention turned entirely towards the man who kneels beside his chair, Will takes another slice of the fish in between the fingers of his opposite hand. He leans over to offer it up as well, digits stopping to hover just before Hannibal’s mouth - waiting for it to be taken - as the fingers of Will’s other hand traces small circles against the older man’s flesh, from where it remains cradled just below his head. 

The small, but tender motions send chills down the Doctor’s spine, his chest stretching and broadening to accommodate the swell of pleasure. The shift of position brings Hannibal closer and higher up to Will, enough that the older man could easily take the other’s cock into his mouth if Will were naked. The cannibal swipes his tongue over the line of his own lips, telegraphing his thoughts  _ perfectly _ to the younger man.

The profiler’s eyes lock on Hannibal’s, one brow raising on a wordless arch.

Hannibal’s lips curl up into a silent snarl in response to Will’s mocking expression and, despite his perilous position, Hannibal snaps his head forward and closes his teeth over Will’s fingers - not hard enough to draw blood, but certainly enough to draw a shocked sound from the profiler. 

Hannibal raises his brow in return as he slowly grazes his teeth back far enough to swallow down the meat, while still keeping his teeth clamped over Will’s fingertips. 

Hannibal’s cock is pulsing hard in his pants, his core already unfurling with liquid heat, causing his breath to pick up. He inhales sharply, taking in the scent of Will’s wet, salty fingers. The smell  _ nearly _ drives him into an  _ animalistic _ frenzy, but he keeps a check on his primal nature for the moment. Rather, instead,a feral kind of moan tears loose as he bites down harder on Will’s fingers and pushes his tongue between them, thoroughly abusing his hand. All the while, Hannibal’s honey-blood gaze remains locked on Will’s— almost challenging him.

Will wants to ignore the challenge. He wants to draw himself away and retreat to another room to perhaps teach the older man a lesson with the power of a decent cold-shoulder. However, it is Will’s own nature and how easily the anger within him is sparked to life by this man, that keeps him seated in place.

And, as angry as Will is, he cannot help that his own cock hardens further to couple every increase of pressure in Hannibal’s bite. 

The cannibal can practically smell it - his nostrils flare at the scent of his  _ mate’s _ arousal. He now understands the urge to do something as base as climb and  _ rut _ against his mate’s thigh - to nose right into the salty musk that gives Hannibal such a dizzying high. So busy being distracted by the profiler’s growing arousal, Hannibal doesn’t see what is coming next.

Will is sure that there will be bruises on his knuckles come the following morning, but it’s a thought that’s pushed far from his mind in the moment, when his free hand forms a solid fist and winds back, only to come down hard against the side of Hannibal’s face. It collides in the place where sharp cheekbone slopes downward, almost carved to a chiseled point, and it hurts against the bone of Will’s hand when they meet at such a force, but adrenaline keeps him from caring.

The punch had been aimed to hurt this time - far less forgiving than a slap.

The larger man stumbles back with the blow, a sharp inhale sounding as Will’s fingers are released. For a moment, the world spins out and goes black, until pain shoots out from Hannibal’s cheek and up behind his eyes in a trail of hot, sharp stars. He sways, sick with the sudden jerk of his head. Eyes rolling, the larger man then reaches back, hand groping for the floor to stabilize himself, until his vision clears and the bile slides back down his throat. All shock is quickly replaced with a calm, inexplicable pride. Calm that is left in the cleansing aftermath of the pain— alongside the pride that comes with having earned Will’s ire enough for him to  _ snap _ and leave his  _ mark _ .

“I gave you a warning,” Will hisses, moving to stand from his chair and shake his hand at his side in an attempt to return blood-flow to the fingers than Hannibal had bitten into. “As far as I’m concerned, you asked for any punishment I could possibly give to you now.”

Hannibal finds his world spinning again. If he could cum via words alone, he is quite sure those just uttered by Will would be the words to bring him to the edge.

The profiler picks up the plate of food and the single fork to walk it over to the counter, stepping around Hannibal along the way, who blinks hard in his attempt to clear his vision and collect himself. Will is quiet as he covers the plate of food in a couple layers of plastic wrap and opens the fridge to place it neatly onto one of the shelves for safe-keeping.

They can finish eating later— when the game comes to a close.

“Hannibal,” Will calls over his shoulder, beckoning the man to follow him as he exits the kitchen, a short and very sharp whistle breaking past the press of tongue to teeth. In answer, the dogs stir a bit, from where they rest in a pile in front of the fire, but Will follows it with a terse hiss of a noise in their direction - their own indicator that they should stay where they are.

Will has always had a very keen eye for understanding those around him, including those that weren’t so human. His dogs view him as both a friend and an alpha of sorts. There is a trust that comes with this mutual bond.

When summoned by a  _ whistle _ Hannibal eyes the kitchen knives that sit nearby and he is close to stealing a blade, charging forward, rounding on Will to silence him permanently. He could slash, wind, and tug out those pesky vocal cords along with that wicked little tongue… if only he didn’t crave Will’s screams and skilled mouth so very,  _ very _ much.

Pity, he is sure that Will’s pan-fried tongue would have been the finest and sweetest delicacy. Hannibal sucks and rolls his own tongue in the cradle of his mouth as he imagines swallowing that sweet muscle for eternal safekeeping. The idea of Will forever being a part of him always leaves Hannibal writhing and restless, as if dark claws were itching under his human veil, aching to lash out and snatch Will for his own.

Regardless, Hannibal is determined to maintain some dignity - and so, he waits a second longer, before maneuvering himself to Will’s side again. The very act of surrendering to Will’s command leads to a very peculiar kind of peace that settles in Hannibal’s chest. As he shifts his body over the floor, he can feel a weight lift and his chest sag as he exhales with a bated-breath that he didn’t know he was holding. 

Even greater relief comes when he focuses on the kiss of pain throbbing at his cheek. 

In the living room once again, Will retrieves a leather leash from where it hangs near the door and waits until the older man is close enough, before leaning down, a hand reaching out to curl long fingers behind the front of Hannibal’s collar and tug. The profiler’s eyes avoid Hannibal’s while he makes quick work of the task at hand, until the clasp of the leash clicks into place over the loop of the collar.

It’s only then that Will gives another harsh tug and it’s almost enough to make Hannibal stumble with it, but the cannibal digs the heels of his palms into the floor with a low snarl and a roll of his neck. He throws a dark glance up at Will and grinds his jaw forward as lust quickly boils over to anger, his lip curling upwards to bare a sharp canine.

“I could tie you up and leave you to your own thoughts and devices for the rest of the night— just so that you might learn not to  _ bite the hand that feeds you _ ,” he starts, his words laced smoothly in the threat, but it’s coupled with the obvious lust that continues to rise. 

Finally, Will turns on his heels and makes way back towards the chair he’d been sitting in when Hannibal had first arrived, taking a seat and keeping a firm grip on the leash to drag the older man along with him. 

Hannibal knows better than to struggle and actually finds that he doesn’t  _ want _ to struggle. Being dragged forward by a leather leash into his lover’s lap is not exactly something he considers punishment - not in this case.

Upon sitting down, Will orders the other with a soft, “ _ Sit _ ,” and waits until Hannibal is kneeling in front of him once again. 

Hannibal slips into place between Will’s thighs, forcing them apart with the width of large shoulders as he settles back on his knees. He arches his neck back, testing the leash, never taking his eyes off the way his lover is splayed open, or the hard line that strains his pants. 

Whilst the cannibal’s gaze is distracted and his senses clouded with heat, Will reaches out and presses the pads of his fingers - the very ones that Hannibal had bitten into so sharply before - against the plush curve of the larger man’s mouth. The moment flesh touches flesh, a silent moan and a shudder is drawn from both men. Their gazes meet in brief recognition of just how close they are to tipping over into the full feral state of living in this space tonight.

But this, for now, is another kind of offering. It’s an order for the Doctor to apologize with the gentle swipes of his tongue, alone - like an almost-kiss over wounds inflicted. Will waits patiently, his eyes now locked on Hannibal’s in a way that hides no games and holds no words to read between the lines. There are many apologies beyond this that Will desires, but knows he can never have.

This will suffice.

Hannibal smirks to himself at this realization— that a simple stroke of the tongue is all it takes to quell Will’s wrath, apparently. Hannibal blinks slowly as he opens his mouth and, retreating from his usual form, he sighs ever-so-softly, before he tentatively brushes over Will’s fingers with the tip of his tongue. Hannibal then closes his lips over Will’s fingertips, offering an agonizingly slow and loving kiss. Sliding his mouth and head back, the older man rolls his shoulders and pulls himself up to sit straight, still on his knees as he faces Will with a hooded gaze and a moan rising from his throat.

As much as Hannibal wants nothing more than to lunge and bite down once again, if only to draw forth blood and sounds of pain - just to have the favour returned in kinds. However, he knows this terribly  _ delicate _ kiss will wind and rile Will far more than any deliberate act of disobedience. 

That, and it is also rare that Hannibal ever finds pleasure in bowing his head to another in submission, or in offering up a vulnerability-of-soul that none other than Will has earned the rights to.

And Will is the only one who would know that Hannibal delights in nothing more than being punished for it. What  _ real _ animal sheaths their fangs when given the chance to draw blood?

Will watches the older man with a focused level of intensity all the way until the touch is pulled away and Hannibal remains kneeling before him in silence. It had been slow and soft— a kiss that neared upon worshipful, in its own way. An apology to seal off their violence and the ever-present battle that wages between the two of them.

It’s just enough to spark Will’s arousal further, sharpening it.

He moves suddenly, sliding forward in the chair, before he slips down to the floor as well, falling to his knees. Will kneels before Hannibal - so close that their chests nearly press together and the profiler is practically in Hannibal’s lap, if the Doctor were to sit back on his heels. Their gazes remain locked through the transition, their noses brushing and breath fanning out over one another’s skin.

Will sees Hannibal for what he is - even like this. Were he to consider the man a ‘ _ pet _ ’ in this place that they’ve created for themselves, Will is still very aware of the power that lingers just under the surface of Hannibal’s cage of flesh and bone. Much different from any dog that remains docile and friendly, regardless of situation and training, Hannibal is an animal of difference design. 

He is strapped with thick muscle and is more than capable of losing his temper enough to cause a fatal level of damage. 

A dog that is far more bite, than he is bark.

Will gives the leash another quick tug from where he holds it at his side, causing the collar to pull forward around Hannibal’s throat and drag the man in for a searing kiss. The profiler’s tongue seeks out that of the other’s instantly, mouths parted wide and a heated breath exhaled into the warm space between. 

“ _ Hannibal _ .” Will says his name like the beginning of an order.

The hand that grasps the end of the leash twists itself to wind the length of the leather over his knuckles once, twice, a third time— all up until it’s nearly shortened to where it connects to Hannibal’s collar entirely. Will moves swiftly and presses in close enough so that their chests, all the way down to the bones of their hips, are slotted together from where they kneel on the floor.

“Listen carefully,” Will starts, demanding Hannibal’s attention completely. One hand winding into the older man’s hair, Will shifts the other around to grasp the twisted leash behind Hannibal’s head - the collar turns without resistance against his throat to accommodate and follow the direction of the pull. “I want you to fuck me....  _ hard _ and with abandon.”

Will’s voice is hushed and it licks hungrily into Hannibal’s mouth, just as the profiler’s tongue does the same into their kiss. With a sudden yank of the leash behind the older man’s head, Will drags Hannibal to bend and yield back just in the slightest, throat arched with a groan as the leather goes taught, the cannibal’s head falling back and allowing all critical thought to tumble out of his skull with it. A tabula rasa waits for Will’s next words to paint themselves across the most deepest recesses of his mind.

“If I tell you that I want it to hurt, you will concede. I don’t want you to restrain yourself. The only restraint you will exorcise is that in which I explicitly enforce—  _ do you understand? _ ”

The words barely finish falling from Will’s lips when Hannibal’s mouth has closed over the profiler’s throat and hands have closed over his shoulders, pushing him back until the smaller man is on his back, underneath the snarling beast that is Hannibal Lecter.

Oh, Hannibal is tethered, but a tether is only so good as the weight that holds it there. And Will was never any match for the serial killer’s brawn. Control was never  _ taken _ from Hannibal— rather, control was  _ gifted _ to Will. 

Hannibal’s teeth drag back over the tender flesh of Will’s throat, leaving long, pink lines in their wake, but Hannibal quickly replaces his mouth with a hand jammed hard under Will’s jaw instead, pinning him down. Hannibal’s other hand rips and tears at both of their clothes, stripping them naked - without care for material, or grace. 

No, there is nothing subtle here. This is purely  _ animal  _ and Hannibal delights in the wild freedom of it all, his heart and nerves all singing and lifting with a joy that he had never known, until Will. Until he had found someone with whom he could entrust his control to. 

A pause and a beat passes as Hannibal draws in a breath and the sight of his  _ master _ , naked and writhing before him. With a curl of his lip, the older man lets slip a delighted snarl as he slowly lowers himself over Will - like a jungle cat stalking his prey. He doesn’t kiss the other man, he simply holds the profiler there and watches as Hannibal uses one of his thickly-muscled thighs to kick Will’s legs apart. 

Hannibal’s gaze slowly slips from view as he curls over, neck bowed and spine arched as a long arm reach down and a surgically precise hand prods and shoves two rough fingers deep inside Will’s tight heat. There is no preparation, or care for what else Will might want in this moment, or what he may not want. 

_ Oh _ , but if that flexing rim of hot muscle doesn’t draw a groan from the cannibal. His hips jerk forward, instinctively seeking out friction for the throbbing need there.

As he turns his gaze back up to Will, Hannibal’s expression grows dark and cool, his eyes unreadable - like that of any hunter as it hones in on its prey. As he massages and curls expert fingers deep inside of Will, knowing that it would be enough to keep him just where Hannibal wants him, the older man then releases Will’s throat and forces three fingers into mouth. 

Hannibal doesn’t need to tell Will to suck— an arch of the brow warns that it would be much worse if he  _ doesn’t _ . 

As his fingers move in and out of both Will’s pretty, hot mouth and his ass, Hannibal’s whole frame rocks above the profiler, as if every one of his muscles are just warming up. Once his fingers are suitably sopping, Hannibal kneels up between spread thighs and slathers his cock in Will’s spit with a loose fist, only pausing mid-motion to trains his gaze onto Will’s. 

In a rush of movement, Hannibal climbs over Will and delivers him a firm backhand, ensuring there is a smack of bone and a splatter of blood in the aftermath. It’s a quick and sudden decision - a kiss of violence in return for those previous to it - and Will released a groan in shock as his vision goes white with it.

Before Will has enough time to react, fingers dig into his hair and drag his face up to allow for Hannibal to  thrust his cock in over Will’s bloodied lips. In the effort to fill Will’s mouth, Hannibal thrusts his hips hard enough to nearly leave bruises and draw up more choked groans. The sights and sounds of strained bone, smacking flesh and crimson blood - alongside Will’s furious gaze and lips wrapped around Hannibal’s aching cock - is just enough to leave the cannibal swimming in carnal bliss.

Even through the stinging over the side of Will’s face and where his lip had split over his teeth with the blow of the slap, he still allows it to go on for some time. Swallowing around the thick girth of Hannibal’s cock and choking down any urge to gag, Will brings his hands up - one still clutching the leash - and cups either of the older man’s hips as he thrusts. 

Like any animal, without manners and without hesitation, Hannibal fucks into Will’s mouth.

Senses overwhelmed by the smell, taste, and feel of the Doctor, Will moans into it, regardless of the frustration he feels. Eyebrows knit and thumbs dig in so that short fingernails press red crescents into Hannibal’s flesh, Will finally shifts to yank harshly on the leash, pulling it off to the side, nearly sending the older man to stumble out of balance. A snarl drops off Hannibal’s lips as he reaches up towards his neck, the leather cutting into tender flesh.

The profiler moves quickly then, pushing the other man’s hips away and freeing his mouth, before another hard pull on the leash draws Hannibal’s mouth down to clamp over Will’s in a searing kiss. The musky taste of the Doctor lingers between them, Will’s tongue coming out to play and snake itself beyond Hannibal’s teeth to explore the depths of his mouth, before it retreats again and the younger man bites hard and sudden into the soft curve of Hannibal’s lower lip. 

The sudden snap of teeth pulls forth both Hannibal’s blood and the low sound of his snarls. The Doctor moves to raise his hands and shove Will off, but he never connects. His hands just end up hovering near either side of Will’s head, fingers flickering with agitation and rage, his eyes blazing.

And now, it’s not just the taste of  _ Will’s  _ blood that dances on each of their tongues.

“Mount me.” It’s an order - Will is not taking  _ no _ for an answer - not that Hannibal would have any reason to argue with it.

Heels kicking against the floor below him, the profiler squirms and spine dips enough to twist himself onto his stomach, placing himself on hands and knees to leave himself open in offering. And then, another yank is given to the leash to drag Hannibal with it by the throat, guiding the older man to lean over the bare expanse of Will’s back. The Doctor tumbles forward with a grunt, palms slamming against the floor at either side of the profiler’s head to steady himself and balance his own weight. The jolt rocks right through Hannibal’s shoulders as his hips drop and the sensation of his cock pressing against the curve of Will’s ass brings him back to centre.

Will’s lifts his hips and rolls them back - encouragement for Hannibal to fill the younger man with the throbbing length of his arousal that lays heavy against Will’s flesh. 

Testing the leash, Hannibal attempts to arch his neck back, thick straps of muscles straining, and although he finds strength enough to move, Will is quick to snap the leash again. The leather yanks hard enough to draw a neat line of blood to well around the cannibal’s neck, drawing a hiss from his lips— but still no protest.

In a decision to give Will exactly what he had asked for, Hannibal lifts one hand and slides it between them - between Will’s soft, writhing flesh and between his own hard wall of muscle to cup over a cheek of the profiler’s ass. Gripping the pert curve of muscle, Hannibal spreads Will to make room for his cock, pressing the swollen head against Will’s tight and unprepared hole.

Fingers splay and caress the side of Will’s ass. Hannibal then moves his palm up the line of the younger man’s spine in a gentle sweep, pausing between his shoulder blades. 

With a deep breath and drawing his own shoulder back just enough, Hannibal slams his hand down, pinning Will to the floor and crushing all air out of his lungs - it leaves him just as helpless as if he were tethered. Then, in a mindless frenzy of want, Hannibal closes his mouth over the back of Will’s neck and bites down hard, teeth drawing blood as he thrusts his hips forward, splitting Will’s velvet heat and filling him completely in one angry motion. In that moment, even the cannibal releases his bite and collapses - a dead weight - as Will’s tight hole clenches around the girth of his cock, rendering him paralyzed by a sudden wave of hot ecstasy. 

Jaw clenched and eyes closed, Hannibal tightens his core to stop himself from cumming too soon.

A growl exhaled on a pant brings Hannibal back to himself with greater fervor and focus than before. The flush that had swept up his back and stained his neck leaves his vision clouded red, his tongue lax with blood lust, and skin coated in a sheen of sweat.

Will can feel the pressure as well— the way that it rises and heats into a boil as the older man sheaths himself inside. Each pulse of Hannibal’s cock as it slides in deeper and deeper is only more an indicator of just how close he is to cumming already, but it doesn’t take long to regain control once again. Will gives a long, low moan behind his lips from where they press together in a tight line, fingers digging into the floor as he lets the larger man fuck into him.

With Will trapped by both teeth and weight, Hannibal starts to roll and arch his hips, slowly pulling back to then drive down hard and fast, allowing the profiler to feel the full length of his cock and the strength of the man behind it. With every slam of Hannibal’s hips, Will’s body lurches forward and the flesh of his neck drags under the Doctor’s teeth. The wound grows ever-deeper as the cannibal mounts his mate, snarling and growling in an effort to stave off the orgasm that hums just under his skin.

Despite the initial ache and sting, Will manages to steel himself and to adjust.

He feels so unbelievably full.

A groan trembles in the cradle of Will’s throat, the side of his face pressed into the floor and his ass in the air as the older man power-thrusts into him. Will can feel his knees burn with the precursor of bruising and blood begin to warm the back of his neck, where Hannibal’s teeth bite down and tug slightly with each jolt of their bodies colliding.

All the while, Will keeps a-hold of the leash - control still at his fingertips.

“Fuck, that’s good.  _ Good boy _ , Hannibal,” he hisses out suddenly, the praise stumbling out to break the silence between the sound of their skin slapping together. 

The praise pets over the cannibal’s skin in a way that leaves him nearly purring, but he fights the pleasure he feels at being told he is a  _ good boy _ with a snap of bloodied teeth at the back of Will’s neck. But for all of his inner conflict, Hannibal still slams deeper, seeking out more praise.

It hurts, but only in the best way. Will’s spine arches once and his back bends upward to press against Hannibal’s heaving chest, while one hand tugs the leash further. It brings the older man’s head to bow and his forehead to rest against one of Will’s shoulders, and in answer, Will draws his free hand up to wind fingers tightly through Hannibal’s hair. 

Hannibal is panting hard against the slippery flesh of Will’s shoulder, lips pulled back in a snarl and teeth clenched. The Doctor’s only leverage for pain has been yanked away - he is left sucking over his bloody teeth and tongue as he keens into the disturbingly tender brush of Will’s hand. It’s too much like being pet on the head like a dog. It’s too much like something Hannibal has always craved and yet always denied— a loving eulogy.

The Doctor’s cock fills Will over and over, spearing him open and nearly sending them both to topple over one another’s limbs with the force of each thrust. 

“Good boy,” the profiler repeats, his voice a delighted purr as all the muscles in his body clench deliciously, his own orgasm just out of reach. “More.  _ Deeper _ .” 

Hannibal grunts at the request, feeling as though Will is bordering mocking him - toying. If Hannibal were to thrust harder, he would be doing them both damage, but Will wants his  _ good boy _ . 

Head still held fast against Will’s shoulder, Hannibal shifts to wrap both of his thickly-muscled arms around the profiler’s shoulders, snaking them underneath and trapping him in the vice-like grip of his embrace. Now, as Hannibal pistons his hips forward, he also hauls Will back down against him, nearly bending the smaller man in two. 

Despite his size and strength, Hannibal still strains and gasps with the effort, muscles burning and sweat dripping as he pounds into Will. Even Hannibal’s hips will have bruises from this abuse, not to mention his knees that continue to jam against the floor. They jolt with every thrust, the impact rocking up the bones of the older man’s thighs and burning against his knees, but every strike of pain only increases the sensitivity of his nerves.

Pain and bliss sing under his skin in equal harmony as the sound of Will’s gasping pleasure and the sensation of his velvet heat clenching down ever-tighter leaves Hannibal trembling, struggling to keep rhythm as his thrusts become sloppy and his breaths ragged. 

As the warmth mounts and rises, sharpened around the edges by each deep twinge of pain, Will can’t stifle the rise in his voice as he whines. Will’s hand is still stroking through Hannibal’s hair, but he draws it away to slip it down the slope of his own belly and wrap each digit around the swollen girth of his own cock that throbs with need between his hips. Stroking himself in time with each thrust, Will’s opposite hand that keeps a grasp over the end of the leash loosens its hold as he works to balance himself and to navigate his way through both of their pleasure.

A long, satisfied moan echoes off the walls of the room as Will nearly sobs his delight into the floor he is fucked over.

With all previous tension and even with each of their orgasms that threaten to spill over at any moment, falling into this role that they play is cathartic. It is a release in and of itself. Regardless of the control that Will knows Hannibal will always retain, the profiler still feels a sense of strength— meanwhile, Hannibal is able to let go, just enough to feel safe.

Together, they wordlessly patch over wounds that sit below the surface of their skin.

Hannibal can’t speak and he can’t cum yet— not without his  _ master’s _ say so. But he also can’t  _ stop _ without his master’s say so. He is in a beatific and hellish limbo and he can only hope the profiler reads enough to relent and let Hannibal release.

And, oh, does Will ever sense it.

The younger man can feel it himself - the inevitable climax rushing in closer and closer with each slap of the Doctor’s hips behind him. Will can feel every slip, slide, tug, and press of Hannibal’s cock from inside him as the profiler arches to meet every motion in-time, angling his pelvis so that his prostate is struck in just the right way. Yet another desperate moan rises instantly from Will’s throat, hitched and aching in tone - it earns him another mighty thrust from the mighty hips behind him.

“You’re so  _ close _ ....” the younger man starts, only trailing off when another particularly erratic thrust nearly sends him falling over himself. The sound Hannibal offers up is primal and needy, a strained grunt expelled with a hot breath against Will’s skin.

Will can feel just how close Hannibal is to the edge and, in turn, this brings the younger man just as close. Nostrils flare as a huff of hot air is exhaled, his brows furrowed and face flushed as Will’s orgasm nearly overtakes him. With a choked groan, the hand that strokes smoothly over the length of his erection cinching closed tight at the base in order to keep himself from cumming. Every soft and sensitive wall of muscle that surrounds Hannibal’s cock flutters and squeezes as it waits to fall into the rush of climax, but Will doesn’t allow it. Not yet.

They would cum together, or they wouldn’t cum at all.

“Ask me if you can cum— say please.” It’s one final order, knowing that he won’t have the time for more, before they would both reach a blissful completion. Will’s voice is breathless and broken on his tongue. “Ask for permission.”

The order is met with a long, strangled groan.

None of this is about degrading Hannibal - not this and not now. No, this is about an exchange of trust. This is a give and a take. Yes, Will is being given a seat of power, regardless of his bent over and fucked-out state, but he is not taking away the older man’s dignity. Will is sure that Hannibal could do just about anything while still maintaining that same air of dignity.

All of this - everything that is said and done between them in this moment - is therapeutic.

Hannibal, so deep in animal fervor, is beyond questioning, or even riling at younger man’s order. Quite the opposite. The beast on Will’s back sinks down further, his own hot flesh nearly melding with the profiler’s trembling skin beneath as he slows his thrusts. 

In a single, fluid motion, the larger man rolls off to the side and takes Will with him— the bulk of Hannibal’s shoulder hits the floor first in order to take the brunt of the blow while changing their position. Now, they lay spooning on the floor, Hannibal all but engulfing Will with his Herculean frame. 

If Hannibal could cover Will any more, he would. Everything in Hannibal’s beastly heart wants to claim and shield his mate from the world entirely. 

Another beat and a pause of breath lets Will know that Hannibal has him - that Will can tug the leash, or slap him with any word, and the cannibal would be on his knees, baying for more. His skin aches with cold want wherever he is not touching Will. The Doctor rests his cheek against the bow of Will’s shoulder and his low, breathy moan leaves a hot trail against the profiler’s skin.

With another shift and grunt of effort, Hannibal snakes his arm around Will’s middle, the bed of his forearm brushing down the curve of the smaller man’s abdomen, holding him there whilst Hannibal’s cock remains buried deep inside and teasing with gentle thrusts. 

Hannibal curls his fingers through the coarse hair of Will’s groin, releasing more of his musky scent. For just a moment, the cannibal arches his head back and inhales sharply with a growl and a slap of his hips, the velvet heat of Will’s ass closing around him so tight that he has to brace himself against his threatening orgasm. Still, Hannibal is almost sure that it will break him in two when his climax releases— the pooling heat is pulsing its way up his thighs, back, and core. Everything is hot and sensitive to the touch.

And Will is just as close, barreling his way towards an explosive orgasm with every pass of his fist from where it curls fingers over his cock, and with every rock of Hannibal’s hips from behind. It gets harder and harder to stave off with every fluid motion between them, but Will refuses to tip over the edge, before he hears Hannibal ask him for the same.

In a sudden and deliberate movement, Hannibal’s hand reaches further down and knocks Will’s hand away to take over, stroking his cock in time with the thrust of the older man’s cock. Their bodies move together smoothly as the tip of Hannibal’s nose and the curve of his lips brush over Will’s shoulder and he murmurs, “Please.  _ Pretty please _ , Master, may I have your  _ permission _ ..? ” 

Hannibal doesn’t finish that sentence. Rather, he leaves it open and empty, ready to be filled with all the things he and Will want to be for one another, but can’t. Not yet. Instead, the end of the sentence is left to hang in soundless agony.

Together, alone. Always.

A beat— a heartbeat passes, before Hannibal’s tongue licks a hot stripe up the back of Will’s neck, the wet tip tracing over the dips and ridges of his spine. With a snap of sharp teeth, Hannibal locks onto thick curls, and tugs just enough to draw Will’s head back. The profiler answers with a moan, lips parted and eyes hooded. 

The violent rhythm of thrusting hips returns as Hannibal clasps a rough hand over Will’s hip, the fingers pressing into the dip of flesh there in order to drag him back and down onto his cock as he brutalizes Will’s ass at an unrelenting pace. All the while, his hand strokes over the profiler’s cock, coaxing forth his orgasm. Where his palm grips around the base, on each upward stroke, his thumb gently presses in and traces a line up the underside of Will’s erection. Once at the top, the pad of his thumb slips against the head and swipes over the slit, through the steady stream of pre-cum that leaks there. 

Hannibal’s whole body shudders the moment the wet beads of cum drip down and glaze the length of his fingers. Nose buried deep in Will’s hair, Hannibal pants hot and hard, tongue pressed against the back of his teeth in a primal need to  _ taste _ his mate’s release. As he pushes the line of his body against Will and drives up into him even harder, growling and whining with hunger, Hannibal edges far too close to combustion. He comes unbearably close to opening his jaws and snapping them around Will’s perfectly arched throat - tearing him apart, just to own and taste every part of him. 

It’s almost as if Will is able to feel the tiniest shift— as though the profiler can sense when the fires ignite themselves to a level that might prove too hot to put out. When that animal part of Hannibal’s mind bares its teeth in a way that borders on blood lust, Will is able to bring the man back to the surface with a harsh yank of the leash, pulling the collar taught over the cannibal’s neck in a warning. 

With this, the beast is reigned in and instead, turns all of his feral attention towards ravishing the squirming man against him.

“ _ Good _ , yeah,” Will huffs out, craning his jaw to the side in order to catch Hannibal’s gaze over the bow of his shoulder as he arches and presses his ass back against the older man through each thrust. It’s too much— Will can’t hold out any longer. 

“Cum for me, Hannibal. Go on.”

The profiler’s voice is hitched on a whine, whilst his words are met with a beastial howl, hot and loud on the back of his neck as Hannibal slams his entire weight into the smaller man’s back, releasing the first spurt of his ruinous orgasm. 

The jolt, coupled with one more stroke of Hannibal’s hand, finally sends Will into his own spiraling orgasm and all vision goes white for a split second in time. Toes curling and the arch of his neck straining, Will’s cock jumps in the larger man’s grasp as wet ropes of cum paint his belly, hips, and the floor below them, following each flutter of the profiler’s muscles. It’s searing hot and blinding, taking Will’s breath away as he shudders his way through every wave of it, over-sensitivity humming underneath the fingers that continue stroking over him, spreading the evidence of his climax over flushed skin.

Will’s order for Hannibal to cum, combined with the clamp of the profiler’s insides around the thick girth of the older man’s cock, continues to tug forth the cannibal’s furious release. As one hand claws down Will’s flank, the other slips over Will’s sloppy shaft, time and time again. Hannibal is pawing at Will as if trying to dig himself under his skin. All the while, Hannibal’s wall of tightly coiled muscle rams into Will’s lean back, shoving him to the floor just to pull him back again— a rolling tangle of limbs and rough moans. 

Hannibal’s usual cool demeanor is replaced by something entirely other— strained, furious, feral, blissful, and  _ open. _ He is completely without human veil, or pretense.  _ Free.  _

Eyes closed and rolling back with a flurry of stars flying behind every blink, the cannibal’s full lips are curled upwards into a sneer as he draws in sharp, opened-mouthed breaths that sail over sharp teeth and a licking tongue.

Will rides through each stuttering push of Hannibal’s hips, arching back into it with eager moans and hitches in his breath as the warmth of the cannibal’s release fills him, coating Will’s inner walls. 

Warm and wet, they slip and slide against one another. Skin slapping, cocks twitching, breath panting, mouths moaning, hands groping, limbs tangling, and minds full of nothing but the pleasure of the other. The writhing reaches its peak when both men are milked of all their pleasure and come to a complete stop. 

Will is left to fill his greedy lungs with humid air while his heart hammers away wildly. From behind him, he can feel Hannibal’s heart doing just the same, tapping a rushed rhythm through the barrel of his chest and against the back of Will’s shoulder blades.

The come-down is quiet - filled with only the sound of their heavy inhales and exhales as Will keeps one hand wrapped on the leash, while the other reaches back to pass fingers through Hannibal’s hair. The cannibal is slack and heavy against him, floating somewhere between human and animal - meanwhile, Will’s stroking hand is an effort to continue gentling the man. An effort to keep Hannibal grounded while they swim in the aftermath of their orgasm together. However, neither of the two have said the word yet that would bring them back to normalcy. They still stay as they are, playing each of their respective roles.

“Hannibal,” Will starts, finally breaking the silence and grabbing the older man’s attention. The profiler’s voice is rough, as though waking from a deep and comfortable sleep. 

In a slow and careful motion, he uses the hand that doesn’t grasp the leash to push against Hannibal’s hip, shifting him back just enough to separate them and to unsheathe the man from inside Will. He has to swallow down the whine that nearly follows, feeling far too empty without Hannibal filling him anymore. From over his shoulder he can hear the cannibal offer up his own groan of protest as his cock slips free and springs wet against the curve of Will’s ass.

Shifting to lay himself out on his back, Will sighs and peers over towards the larger man, tugging the leash - if only gently this time. An encouraging prompt, before, “Will you be a good boy and lick it clean?”

With this, Will arches a brow and the corner of his mouth plays at the beginning of what would be a smirk. It’s not mocking— it’s merely playful in nature as the buzz of their mutual climax still stirs around them pleasantly. On the opposite side of Will, on the floor, is the mess of his own release and it paints itself in small smears over the dip of his stomach as well. He doesn’t move from where he lies, sprawled out and waiting beside the cannibal.

Hannibal says nothing and stretches out his neck like a lazy cat, eyes closed and shoulders rolling, before he reaches out a long arm and splays his fingers wide, unwinding from the exertion. As his arm lowers, he plants a heavy palm on Will’s hip and clutches the curve of bone there, holding him firm as the cannibal moves to lower his face over the other man’s groin. 

Setting to work with a deep hum, Hannibal’s tongue lathes over tight and sensitive balls. His mouth opens to take in one and then the other, each given one expert suck, before they plop from the hot cavern of his mouth and Hannibal then moves up to tongue at coarse hair. His lips close over dark, musky, curls and leaves them wetter than when he had started, before Hannibal turns his gaze up towards the writhing profiler. Hannibal wears a cheshire-cat grin as he licks the salty and familiar taste from his lips, moaning an exaggerated sigh of content.

Will’s mouth is left open as his lips quiver, perched on both the edge of a whine and on the edge of a protest. Hannibal  _ knows _ he is walking just along the edge of causing Will pain by mouthing over his cock so soon after cumming, but the cannibal’s eyes still stay touched with wicked grin. Hannibal also knows that Will enjoys when they walk this line. 

After all, the leash is  _ just there.  _ If Will truly wanted to see an end to it, it wouldn’t be hard for him to express it.

The pointed tip of Hannibal’s tongue traces a line up the underside of Will’s cock and toys over the cum stained slit. Before Will has a chance to tug on the leash, Hannibal has him pinned and is sucking over his cock, taking down the taste of the younger man with a grunting groan. Huge shoulders rock up as the beast starts to climb Will’s torso. Strong hands slide up to form a secure a grip around his rib cage, shoving him down as the cannibal sucks harder and even teases with light bites around the base. 

It’s without hesitation that Hannibal suddenly pushes up to his haunches and gets his knees between Will’s calves in order to kick his legs apart, preparing for round two. 

Will is shaking and huffing out panted protests, but it takes him a good minute of struggling, before he can find the mind enough to quickly wrap the length of the leash around Hannibal’s neck and tug hard enough to strangle him. The cannibal gurgles out a wounded grunt of surprise as he topples over to the side, clutching at his throat and trying to hook his fingers beneath the twisted leather. Will moves faster now as he lifts his leg and presses a knee into Hannibal’s shoulder to keep him down, trapping him until they both can regain their centre.

Both men are panting now and in shock from the struggle, but neither move, nor is the safe-word spoken. A cold, but gentle silence envelops them, stealing away any heat, or any anger that might have followed.

Will reaches down and rakes his fingers tenderly through Hannibal’s hair, winding the strands around his fingers and pulling gently, before, “Come.”

And Hannibal comes. 

The beast slides up beside his Master and drapes heavy limbs over Will’s slim and trembling frame - limbs that could just as soon kill, as they do comfort. Heartbeats tick by as surely as the echo of the clock on the wall, neither man wanting to call it and move from this place of being. Neither want to leave this place of raw and brutal honesty, where love and violence weave seamlessly into one and Will nor Hannibal have to hide who, or what they are, or what they share  _ together _ .

But as time winds down with the calming of breath and heart, Will turns his face and presses his lips to Hannibal’s forehead. The profiler has to tug the leash and keep a firm grip against the leather in order to keep Hannibal as he tries to twist away in an effort to further draw out their time together. 

The beast doesn’t want to leave, to be sent back again. To be that thing, left alone in the dark.

This time it is Will that wraps an arm around Hannibal’s shoulders, holding him close as the smaller man closes his eyes tight and murmurs soft,  
  
“ _ Nuosavas _ ,” just as the leash is clicked free.


End file.
